Daniel called shortly after lunch.
I was sitting at the kitchen table, my tea cooling beside the phone, when his name appeared on the screen.
I answered immediately.
“Hello?”
“It's Daniel Mercer. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Yes. I've been waiting to hear from you.”
“I've reviewed the copies you brought in, and I've started checking the information on the documents.”
I gripped the edge of the table.
“Have you found out what they mean?”
“I've identified some things we need to clarify. I don't want to give you an incomplete answer, especially when the date is so close.”
I closed my eyes.
“Please tell me what you can.”
He paused briefly.
“The papers appear to concern a formal legal arrangement involving you and Ashton. Your names are listed together, and the document includes a signature presented as yours.”
My mouth had gone dry.
“Does it say I agreed to something?”
“It contains language that suggests agreement, but I need to verify the document's purpose and status before I can tell you what that means in practice.”
I looked toward the hallway.
The bedroom was upstairs.
The suitcase was still beneath our bed.
“Can you tell whether it has already been submitted?”
“I'm checking that now. I also want to establish whether the date refers to a deadline, a scheduled appointment, or something else.”
“So the date might not mean what I thought?”
“That's possible. We shouldn't assume either way.”
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
For the past several days, I had treated the date as though it were a countdown to something inevitable.
Daniel was reminding me that a date on a page was not an explanation.
“What should I do in the meantime?” I asked.
“Keep the original documents safe. Don't sign anything related to this matter until you understand it. If Ashton gives you additional paperwork, you can ask for time to have it reviewed independently.”
“And if he asks why?”
“You can tell him you want to understand what you're signing. That's a reasonable request.”
I rubbed my thumb over the rim of my teacup.
It was something I should have been able to say without help.
Yet for two years, I had become accustomed to letting Ashton decide which parts of a document needed explaining.
I had trusted him to know what mattered.
“Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“What if I really did sign something like this and simply don't remember?”
“Then we'll look at the circumstances and the evidence. But don't let uncertainty force you into accepting a signature you don't recognize.”
His words settled over me slowly.
I thanked him and ended the call.
For several minutes, I remained at the table.
The kitchen looked different in the afternoon light.
The counter was pale near the window and darker beneath the cupboards.
A faint scratch crossed the surface near the sink, a mark Ashton had made years earlier while opening a package with a kitchen knife.
I could see it now.
I had forgotten it was there.
For two years, I had known the kitchen through my hands, my memory, and the sounds of ordinary life.
Now I was seeing details that had remained in the same place while my understanding of everything else changed.
I wondered how many things I had failed to question because I had trusted my memory of the person who stood beside me.
That evening, Ashton came home carrying his work bag and a small paper sack.
He placed the sack on the counter.
“I brought those little butter cookies you like.”
I recognized the bakery's folded paper packaging.
“Thank you.”
He took off his coat and watched me reach for the sack.
“You seem quiet today.”
“I'm tired.”
“Did you have trouble with your eyes?”
“A little.”
He came closer.
“Have you been trying to read again?”
“Some.”
His forehead tightened.
“Sutton, you have to be careful.”
“I am being careful.”
“I'm only saying I don't want you to hurt yourself trying to do too much.”
“I understand.”
He seemed to want to say something else, but he turned toward the refrigerator instead.
I followed him into the kitchen.
He began taking vegetables from a shopping bag and placing them on the counter.
I offered to help.
He told me to sit down.
I stayed where I was.
“I can still do things for myself, Ashton.”
He looked up.
“I know that.”
“Sometimes I don't think you do.”
He set down the bag of carrots.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then he sighed.
“I'm trying to look after you.”
“I know you've been trying.”
“Then why does everything I say sound wrong to you lately?”
I looked at his face.
Because I had found a suitcase.
Because my name was on a paper I had never signed.
Because the man who used to read every line aloud now seemed afraid of what I might discover for myself.
I could have said all of that.
Instead, I answered carefully.
“Because I need to be allowed to make decisions, too.”
His expression softened, though not completely.
“Of course you do.”
He returned to the vegetables.
I went to the table and sat down.
We prepared dinner without discussing it further.
Afterward, Ashton washed the dishes while I dried them.
He handed me a plate.
I could see its white rim against the darker towel.
My fingers closed around it securely.
For a second, I thought of all the times he had guided my hands toward objects I could not see.
I had been grateful then.
I was still grateful for many of those things.
But gratitude was not the same as surrender.
I set the plate on the shelf.
Ashton turned off the tap.
“There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about,” he said.
My body went still.
“What is it?”
He wiped his hands on a dish towel.
“I've been thinking about how we move forward.”
“Move forward with what?”
“With our lives. With everything that's happened.”
I waited for him to continue.
He looked at the counter rather than at me.
“I think we need to make some changes.”
“What kind of changes?”
“Practical ones.”
The words were familiar.
They sounded like the beginning of the explanation I had been waiting for.
I kept my voice steady.
“What practical changes?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I don't have all the details worked out yet.”
“Then why bring it up now?”
“Because I don't want you to think I haven't been thinking about our future.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
“You keep saying that you want us to move forward, but you never tell me what you're planning.”
He stopped rubbing his forehead.
“I'm not trying to shut you out.”
“Then don't.”
The words came out more firmly than I expected.
Ashton stared at me.
I had rarely spoken to him that way since the accident.
For a moment, I wondered whether I had gone too far.
Then I remembered Daniel's advice.
I was allowed to ask questions.
I was allowed to understand the decisions that affected my life.
Ashton finally nodded.
“All right. I'll explain more when I've sorted things out.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
I wanted to ask whether soon meant before the date on the papers.
I wanted to ask why he had not explained anything already.
But I could see the conversation closing around us.
I decided not to force an answer that night.
“Okay,” I said.
He seemed relieved.
He reached for my hand.
I let him hold it, but I did not mistake the gesture for an explanation.
Later, when he went to bed, I remained downstairs and called Daniel's office again.
I left a message confirming that I wanted him to continue checking the documents.
Then I went upstairs.
The black suitcase was still beneath the bed.
I knelt and pulled it out just far enough to reach the zipper.
I did not open it.
Instead, I rested my hand on the top and listened to the quiet room.
I was no longer waiting for Ashton to tell me what mattered.
I was finding out for myself.
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: When Ashton Started Talking About Our Future in Vague Promises, I Realized I Needed Answers Before I Could Agree to Anything
I Had Learned to Recognize My Husband by His Footsteps, but I Was Beginning to See Things He Thought Were Hidden
Part 13 of 20
